


Closeted

by Midorisakura (Calacious)



Category: Psych
Genre: Closets, Eventual Fluff, Fear, First Kiss, Humor, Locked In, M/M, Trope Bingo Round 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Midorisakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn and Lassiter fear for their lives while trapped in a closet. Will the psychotic killer discover them before the good guys do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closeted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [csi_sanders1129](https://archiveofourown.org/users/csi_sanders1129/gifts).



> More light-hearted than the summary makes it seem.

In the grand scheme of things, Shawn figured that being locked in a walk-in closet wasn’t such a horrible fate. Granted, the walk-in closet was owned by a psychopath who seemed hell-bent on killing him, and he’d had to pee long _before_ he’d discovered that he was locked in. Oh, and there was the teensy, tiny part where Lassiter was locked in the closet with him, and the detective was none too happy about it. He hadn’t stopped shouting at Shawn since the door clicked shut, and they’d tried the doors to no avail.

“Spencer, of all the hair-brained –”

Shawn stopped listening to what Lassiter was saying – he’d perfected the art of tuning others out when he’d been a kid – and instead, he started watching the other man. Lassiter’s nostrils were flaring, his eyes were wide, and the vein on the side of his neck was starting to pulse. Shawn didn’t need any of these visual details to prove that Lassiter was stressed, and worried, though. That was clear in the way that the detective paced, the beads of sweat that were gathering on his upper lip. 

Shawn held his hand up, and was surprised when Lassiter stopped talking mid-rant. The detective frowned, dropped his hands to his side and mimicked Shawn’s stance – bodies leaned toward the door, heads cocked to the side, perfectly poised to listen. 

_What is it?_ Lassiter mouthed, and Shawn held a finger up to his lips, even though Lassiter hadn’t made a sound. 

He almost relaxed, almost let out the breath that he’d been holding when it happened again – the almost not there sound which had dragged his attention away from the worked up detective. 

It was a creak. Distinctive. The sound of a sneaker on an old, wood floor, weight placed just so in an attempt to not make a sound. 

Lassiter’s eyebrows rose, like furry twin caterpillars, and, had the circumstances been different – had they not been trapped in a closet waiting for the return of a psychotic killer – Shawn would’ve said something about it that would’ve rankled the detective and set him off on another long-winded rant. Shawn would’ve stood back and watched Lassiter’s cheeks puff out, his skin flush as he worked himself up over it. 

But, circumstances weren’t different, and another ‘creak’ had Shawn reaching for Lassiter’s hand, finding that the detective’s hand was right there, and that Lassiter’s hand was as shaky as his own. They fumbled at first, their fingers unused to making contact with one another and the almost electric pulse that seemed to accompany their touch. 

Once they’d managed to successfully hold hands, fingers twined together, Shawn held his breath, closed his eyes and listened. He was certain that, whoever was on the other side of the door could hear his heart beat; it was so loud in his own ears. Lassiter’s hand felt warm, the detective’s long, slender fingers were surprisingly soft as they were strong. 

Shawn swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and his palms equally sweaty. 

“You okay, Spencer?” Lassiter whispered in his ear, his warm breath tickling Shawn’s neck. 

Shawn nodded, swallowed again. Blinked, and listened. His heart was too loud, and Lassiter’s breath was warm, comforting, and the creaking footfalls drew nearer. 

“Relax,” Lassiter whispered; the hand not gripping Shawn’s tightly moved to Shawn’s lower back, rested there. The touch was firm and grounding and Shawn nearly bit through his bottom lip when the creaking footsteps stopped directly in front of the closed doors. 

“When I say so, take a step back,” Lassiter said. 

Shawn nodded, licked his lips, and held his breath. His heart felt like it was going to hammer itself right out of his chest. He’d seen the police photos, knew what this psycho who’d locked him and a weaponless Lassiter in his closet was capable of, and it wasn’t pretty. Mangled bodies, disfigured faces, parts that most people took for granted (fingertips, earlobes, the crinkly flesh on knuckles…) missing. 

It wasn’t pretty, and Shawn should have listened when Lassiter told him to back off. He should never have followed the detective out into this remote area. Should never have gotten involved in the first place. Should have ignored the beautiful, pining widow who’d come to him for help to bring her husband’s killer to justice. 

“One.” Lassiter’s breath ghosted over the fleshy part of Shawn’s ear, and Shawn tightened his grip on Lassiter’s hand. 

“Don’t worry,” Lassiter said. “I’ve got this.” 

The floor creaked, loudly, right in front of the locked door, and Shawn stifled what would have been an unmanly scream behind a fist. Lassiter rubbed his hand over Shawn’s back, soothing, and Shawn wondered how the man could be so sure of himself at a time like this, how he could remain steadfast and unafraid when facing a possibly painful, gruesome death. 

“Two.” Lassiter’s lips brushed against Shawn’s earlobe, making him shiver, and his fingers clench around Lassiter’s in what had to be a rather uncomfortable grip now. 

“Three.” 

The timing was perfect, and Shawn had no idea how, but the second that the number left Lassiter’s lips, and he pushed Shawn behind him, causing him to stumble slightly, the door swung open and light poured in through the open door, momentarily blinding them. Lassiter held a coat hanger high in the air, a makeshift weapon that Shawn didn’t doubt he’d wield with every bit of strength that he could muster. 

With a warrior’s cry, Lassiter rushed at their unseen quarry, shoving Shawn back even further into the closet. He looked like a wild man, with the hanger whistling through the air as he aimed it at the psycho’s head. 

“Whoa, hold on there. Shawn? Detective Lassiter?” 

Gus. 

It was Gus. 

Shawn sagged, his knees buckling. Strong arms caught him before he hit the floor, pulled him upright, and into a crushing hug. Lips brushed against his, and Shawn held on for dear life, his heart beating in a mad rush of relief and crashing adrenaline. 

It took a full minute, maybe more, for Shawn’s head to clear, and for him to realize that Lassiter hadn’t let him go, even after the danger of him collapsing to the floor in a glamour-less heap had long since passed. It took him far too long to realize that the detective’s lips were still pressed to his own. Lassiter, who seemed to have no time or tolerance for Shawn or his ‘psychic’ abilities, was holding him, and kissing him. It was discombobulating and Shawn’s head was spinning, and he couldn’t quite catch his breath, but just then, he didn’t want to. 

“So, uh…guess I’ll leave you two, let you uh come out of the closet in your own time.” Gus’s voice seemed like it was coming from somewhere far, far away, and Shawn would’ve laughed at the pun had he not been so focused on kissing. 

“I’ll uh, just go get the others, let them know that I found you two, in the closet, er, well, maybe I’ll leave that part out…” Gus’ voice trailed off as he walked from the room. 

“I thought he’d never leave,” Lassiter whispered, his words making Shawn shiver. 

“You don’t think the psycho’s still out there, running around?” Shawn asked, suddenly worried. 

Lassiter smirked. “I don’t think Santa Barbara’s finest would’ve sent your partner in to look for us if there was still a madman running loose.” 

Shawn raised an eyebrow, pulled Lassiter closer when the man turned toward the door. 

Lassiter rolled his eyes. “Relax, Spencer, I’m just trying to give us some privacy. I think we’ve earned it.” 

“And I think it’s time that the two of you came out of the closet.” Juliet sounded amused and just a little perturbed. “We’ve got the bad guy, and I’ve recovered your weapons. C’mon, you two can shack up later, in your own closet, your own time.” 

Lassiter sighed, but he tugged on Shawn’s hand, lead them out of the closet. He kept his hand on the small of Shawn’s back. It was a warm, welcome weight. Lassiter guided them through the room, down the hallway, out of the house, and back to his place. 

In the grand scheme of things, it was a pretty damn good ending to a day fraught with danger. A day that started out with him being trapped in a closet with a man he thought hated him, and ended in that same man’s bed, cold feet sandwiched between warm calves, being lulled to sleep by the steady beat of Lassiter’s heart.


End file.
